Page 29 of Kickoff

“How do you know?”

“I heard Sheldon complaining about it last year.”

“Who cares? You’re sick, and you look like you’re about to faint. I couldn’t care less about being late.”

She squinted. “Why?”

“Want me to spell it out for you? Because I care about you.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. Mind your own business and leave me alone. I can deal with my shit all by myself.”

“What has gotten into you? Are you asking for a fight? Is that it? Want me to scream at you? Tell you to go fuck yourself instead of making sure you’re all right?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Maybe.” She looked away, avoiding my gaze.

“What the hell. Are you mad at me? I thought we were way past that. It’s been years, so get over it.”

Her eyes widened and filled with something resembling hurt, and I regretted saying those words out loud. Melinda and I had never discussed what went down between us all those years ago. Still, now wasn’t the time to bring it up. Raking my brain, I couldn’t find a reason why she would be pissed off at me.

Melinda turned her face away, ignoring me. I cocked her head using a finger. “Talk to me. What is it? I thought we were good after the other night. A ceasefire of sorts or something like that.”

The pads of my fingers tingled where we touched. Over the last minute or so, my skin had made more contact with hers than it had in the past five years combined.

She closed her eyes. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“It’s not nothing. Can you please not shut me out when we’re having a conversation?”

Her eyelids opened one at a time. “Happy?”

I couldn’t leash in the smile that broke free on my lips. “Better.”

“And FYI, we’re not having a conversation. You are the only one talking.”

“Why are you answering me then?”

Some of the fight left her, but she kept her stance rigid. “I owe you nothing.”

“Mel… Help a guy out. I can’t fix whatever is wrong between us if I don’t know what is actually wrong between us.”

“I never asked you or expected you to fix anything.” She bit her lower lip. “I-You…” She raised a finger between us. “Hold that thought.” She ran away, her hand cupping her mouth. Seconds later, she threw up in the same trash can as before.

“Okay. I don’t care if you hate me right now. I’m driving you home.”

“No.”

I bought a bottle of water from a vending machine behind us and twisted the cap off before placing it in her hand. “Drink.”

She wiped her mouth, then raised her hand toward the bottle. “Don’t boss me around.” She took a small sip, nonetheless. “Your team is waiting for you on the field.” I handed her the bottle cap, and she screwed it back on.

“They’ll survive. It will give Summerfield a chance to show what he’s made of.”

“Summerfield?”

“He’s QB2, and the guy has no chance of being the starting quarterback this year as long as I am playing, so I’m sure he’ll enjoy taking my spot at practice. Follow me.”

She dug her heels in and refused to move. Under the recessed lights, her skin seemed greener than it should be.

“What about Tanya?” she asked.